


STOP SHOGO 2014

by x119



Category: Battle Royale - All Media Types
Genre: Castration, Eye Trauma, Gallows Humor, Gen, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 15:56:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5671702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x119/pseuds/x119
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 2014. He must be stopped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	STOP SHOGO 2014

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the best fic I ever wrote no lies. In case you were not aware, I wrote this in 2014.

            Smoke drifted through the halls as Shogo lit up seven cigarettes at once; he didn’t give a fuck about smoking in the middle of the school because he was a crazy motherfucker who was acutely aware of the futility of life. He inhaled, creating at least two juicy tumors in his left lung, each with its own healthy coating of thick black tar. He didn’t give a fuck about this either because his dad was cancer.

            Continuing to be manly and not give a fuck about anything or anyone, Shogo made his way down the hallway, which caused some earthquakes in China due to his massive weight of eight elephants. Elephants is a unit of measurement according to Shogo. He has known nothing else since being raised by elephants in Africa over 600 years ago. That’s why his ears are so big and his skin so tough and leathery.

            While pondering his elephant past, Shogo was stopped short in his extremely masculine walk down the school hallway by Kazuo Kiriyama. This stupid motherfucker was nowhere to be seen two seconds ago when Shogo lit ten thousand cigarettes and smoked out an entire nation, but there he was, being his usual stupid motherfucker self.

            “What are you doing you stupid motherfucker?” Shogo asked, cancerous tar spewing from his shitty 16 year old beard. Some of the tar landed in Kazuo’s right eye, prompting him to flick his third eyelid. Since that didn’t do the trick, his tongue shot out and stuck to his cornea, licking off the cancer tar and then spewing it out his nose at high speeds. He’s a lizard. From now on imagine him with chameleon eyes.

            “Just getting high,” Kazuo replied as he was obviously not getting high. His nictitating membrane quivered in anticipation of another tar assault. Shogo scoffed and blew clouds of smoke out his nostrils, stamping his foot on the ground like a horse to assert his dominance. His elephant ears shook from the recoil. He lit up two more cigarettes in an attempt to hide his insecurities about his fat ears.

            “Getting high on what, nerd? Knowledge?” Shogo laughed loudly at his own joke. Kazuo was not amused. He flicked his tongue upward to straighten his hair before he continued.

            “Just getting high on the adrenaline rush of torture and murder,” Kazuo answered with a completely straight face. His right third eyelid flicked twice in rapid succession.

            “Stop winking at me, faggot!” Shogo demanded, completely disgusted with Kazuo’s flirtatious membrane. Before he could continue into the slew of homophobic insults he had prepared for any occasion where a fellow man creature obviously wanted to suck on his penis, he was roughly jerked backward as a cold, rough wire was placed around his neck and quickly tightened.

            Shogo let out a string of obscenities as all his limbs were quickly restrained in a similar manner. The members of the Kiriyama Family surrounded him, all clad in tiny pink nurse outfits and high heels. None of them seemed to be enjoying it except Sho, who giggled at batted his eyelashes when Shogo’s eyes met his. Shogo tried his best to ignore him while he attempted to assert his manself to the rest of the group.

            “What the fuck is wrong with you guys?” He growled, struggling against his restraints. No one answered; Sho continued to giggle to himself.

            Kazuo reappeared at Shogo’s side, holding a syringe filled with mysterious liquid. Shogo knew these wizard curses when he saw them, as his father had once been a legendary witch doctor. He thrashed as Kazuo gripped his extremely beefy, well oiled arm beneath a gloved hand, positioning his needle over the apex of Shogo’s beautiful rolling hills of biceps. Kazuo quickly plunged the needle into Shogo’s perfectly tanned skin and injected, spreading the viscous liquid throughout his robust muscles.

            “What the fuck did you just do?” Shogo cried out in fear. Kazuo ignored him and prepared a second syringe. Shogo let out an extremely loud fart full of fear.

            “Don’t worry,” Kazuo began, seemingly ignoring the fart. Everyone else was laughing quietly in the background. “You’ll calm down in a few minutes.”

            Shogo continued to cry and scream like a large man baby, but all further questions were ignored. Kazuo gave the second injection with swift dexterity.

            “I’m a chunky monkey from funky town,” Kazuo said, recapping his needle safely with the one-handed recap method.

            “You’re a what?” Shogo asked, his vision blurring as his eyelids grew unbearably heavy. He barely even noticed when Kazuo’s longue twirled around and licked his corneas to test his intraocular pressure.

            Shogo could not continue to fight. He attempted to restart from his last checkpoint, but instead found himself strapped to an operating table, totally nude. Someone had applied some glittery heart shaped pasties over his nipples, but he didn’t think that sort of thing counted as real clothing.

            As he looked around, he could see Kazuo standing at the foot of the operating table, being tied into surgical scrubs by Mitsuru and Ryuhei. Both of them were wearing frilled nurse dresses, complete with costume accessories, stockings and high heels. They looked extremely uncomfortable.

            “What the fuck is this?” Shogo asked, struggling weakly against his bonds. Still faint from the drugs Kazuo had given him earlier, he strained to raise his head further off the operating table.

            “Prepare your anus,” Sho whispered sensually into Shogo’s ear, startling him. He giggled as Shogo stared him down angrily, rocking the operating table as he thrashed.

            “Just kidding!” Sho said excitedly. “We’re cutting your balls off!”

            “Way to ruin the surprise,” Hiroshi mumbled beneath his surgical mask as he carried a tray of various surgical tools past Sho’s ruffly butt and placed them next to the operating table.

            “Why the fuck would you want to cut my balls off?!” Shogo asked.

            “It’s the only way to stop you,” Kazuo answered plainly, holding his gloved hands upward as he approached the operating table. “It’s the year 2014. You simply have to be stopped.”

            “Holy shit Kiriyama, it’s the 90’s!” Shogo scoffed, raising one brick shaped eyebrow. “Chill the fuck out.”

            “I don’t care what year you think it is, you sick son of a bitch,” Kazuo blurt out quickly, sounding surprisingly harsh. Shogo could see Mitsuru and Ryuhei giggling behind him, so he assumed they had taught him such phrases. They each donned gloves and surgical masks that were the exact same colour as their frilly outfits.

            “Well, I don’t care about that, so…” Kazuo paused for a moment, tilting his head to the side as he observed the tray of surgical instruments Hiroshi proudly held out next to him. “I suppose we can begin.”

            “Uh, seriously guys? What the fuck?!” Shogo exclaimed as Kazuo deftly attached the scalpel blade to the handle. Shogo began to thrash against his restraints like a beached whale, slapping his fins wildly and expelling vapor from his blowhole.

            “I need more sedative,” Kazuo ordered, fixing his stare on Hiroshi. The boy nodded extremely enthusiastically, leaving his post momentarily in order to draw up the drugs Kazuo needed.

            “Wow,” Kazuo mumbled, leaning casually against Shogo’s inner thigh as he fanned his face with one gloved hand. “I popped a Molly, now I’m sweating.”

            “Oh, don’t worry Kazuo-kun, I’m coming!” Shogo could hear Sho chirp enthusiastically next to him, prancing over to Kazuo with a lace handkerchief in hand. He bent over daintily and dabbed at the other boy’s forehead with it before running back to his post next to Shogo, giggling all the way.

            “That’s my job,” he said proudly. “It’s _the best one_.” Shogo rolled his eyes and caught a glance on Mitsuru visibly frowning off to the side. His gaze landed on Hiroshi just in time to see that little idiot fumble with his syringe and stab himself right in the eye.

            Hiroshi’s scream let the others know what had happened before Shogo could say anything. Everyone moved to help except Kazuo, whose gaze was now affixed between the scalpel blade and Shogo’s tennis ball sized ultra man testicles.

            “Uh, can you fix this?” Mitsuru asked, sounding mildly panicked. Behind him, Ryuhei and Sho were attempting to calm Hiroshi down and stop the bleeding. This wasn’t very effective as Sho was too repulsed to get near the kid due to his persistent egg salad smell, not to mention he couldn’t possibly ruin this dress with Hiroshi’s disgusting, third-rate blood. Ryuhei tried to hand Hiroshi a piece of gauze, but fainted from the sight of gushing blood before the other boy could take it.

            “Well, I’m not sure about that,” Kazuo replied, forfeiting the staring contest with Shogo’s 100% all beef thermometer and observing the scene next to them. “The only surgery I studied was ball removal. I don’t know how to operate on eyes.”

            “Shit, can you figure something out?” Mitsuru stammered. “Like, use what you already know! I mean, eyes ‘n balls aren’t that different. They’re round, right? It’s like, the same.”

            “I see your point,” Kazuo conceded. A resounding thud was heard throughout the room as Hiroshi collapsed due to blood loss. “I should take out his injured eye and replace it with one of his testicles.”

            “That’s not what I meant, but that sounds pretty fuckin’ badass,” Mitsuru replied with a harsh laugh and a crooked smile. “You want me to help?”

            “Bring him over here,” Kazuo said, rising up from the hellhole of Shogo’s genital region and returning to the free earth. He stood by silently as Mitsuru dragged Hiroshi’s barely conscious body across the floor, leaving a trail of blood where he went. In the meantime, Sho was bent over Ryuhei, slapping him in the face in an attempt to get him to regain consciousness.

            “My dad was a-“ Shogo began triumphantly, waving his elephant trunk wildly before Kazuo interrupted him.

            “No one cares about your dad,” Kazuo stated. He looked over and brandished his scalpel in a way that was almost threatening before turning his attention back to Hiroshi.

            Shogo merely watched as Kazuo began the impromptu surgery, each of his movements followed by a pained groan from Hiroshi. Mitsuru was sitting next to him, smiling while admiring Kazuo’s handiwork. The two of them obscured Shogo’s view of the whole picture, but he could imagine what Hiroshi’s face looked like all too well, as he had once scooped out a man’s eyeball with an everyday teaspoon. But those were better days.

            “If you let me go, I can help him!” Shogo cried, expelling vapor from his blowhole as he attempted to use his doctor heritage as a bargaining chip once more. “I can save his life! I won’t even tell anyone about what happened! Why do you want to cut my balls off, anyway? What’s the point of it all? Hey, aren’t you guys acutely aware of the futility of life?”

            Distracted during his own tangent, he hadn’t realized that Mitsuru and Kazuo were now on either side of him. They both stared down with unreadable expressions (not that Kazuo’s was ever readable), faces half covered with surgical masks. The large, sequined red heart in the middle of Mitsuru’s mask shifted slightly, and Shogo assumed he had cracked a smile beneath it. He produced a roll of bandage tape from one of his frilly front pockets, unrolling a short length (lol possible penis joke? YOU DECIDE), his gaze shifting to Kazuo.

            Before Shogo had realized what the bloody thing inside Kazuo’s hand was, he felt his mouth being pried open and a lukewarm object that felt suspiciously like Hiroshi’s missing eyeball was shoved up against his tongue. Mitsuru cackled and slapped the length of tape over Shogo’s mouth before he could spit the eye out, quickly winding circles around his head to secure it in place. Shogo called upon the willpower of his ancient doctor ancestors to help him persevere through this medical emergency and keep his dignity. Unfortunately, his doctor level simply wasn’t high enough and he lost the battle, vomiting into the makeshift eyeball gag.

            “This is unsanitary,” Kazuo remarked as he watched the blood stained vomitus run down Shogo’s well defined pectorals. “I knew it was only logical to save the torture until after the surgery.”

            “But, Boss,” Mitsuru said, his face an expression of pure thought, which didn’t happen very often. “Ain’t the surgery part of the torture?”

            Kazuo shrugged, suddenly producing his bloody scalpel from his sleeve.

            “I suppose,” he said, cleaning the blood from the blade with his long tongue. Mitsuru smirked and suddenly stabbed Shogo in the rippling bicep with a large needle, quickly injecting the contents before Shogo could jink away. Shogo angrily mused that Mitsuru probably pulled that thick syringe out of his big gay asshole. He angrily mused it so loudly in his mind that he hoped Mitsuru could somehow hear it.

            Holding the tray of surgical supplies as Kazuo ducked between Shogo’s legs, Mitsuru suddenly looked startled, as if someone were insulting his big gay asshole.

            “What are you thinking about?” Kazuo asked, picking up on the change in Mitsuru’s demeanor as he sliced Shogo’s left testicle open. Mitsuru looked like he was concentrating, though not paying any attention to the pained cries that were now coming from Shogo; despite the scene he made, no one seemed to care that his anesthetic hadn’t kicked in yet.

            “Well, it feels like someone’s thinking about my…” Mitsuru hesitated, unsure if he should continue. Kazuo didn’t even seem to be listening, focusing on extracting the material from Shogo’s scrotal sack, which the latter was really not happy about.

            “Nevermind,” said Mitsuru, shaking his head to clear his mind of big gay asshole thoughts. “Uh, d’you need the stapler?” He laughed and held up the instrument, mimicking its use. As if he even knew how to use a stapler (he was too stupid for such complex tasks).

            Out of all the things Shogo had assumed would be in his future, penis stapling was surely not one of them. He wanted to protest, or to expel vapor from his blowhole, but he felt his whole body becoming heavy all of a sudden. He tried to trace Kazuo’s movements as he took the stapler from Mitsuru, but his eyes just wouldn’t stay open long enough for him to put the whole thing together. Upon feeling a dull pain in his mysterious forest regions, he was glad for the loss of sensation; he was pretty sure some part of his dick was just stapled and he really didn’t want to know more about it.

           

 

            Shogo awoke to see Kazuo standing over him like the fucking creeper that he is, poking his stubbly cheek with a tongue depressor over and over to bring him back to consciousness.

            “Are you awake now?” Kazuo asked, sounding surprisingly gentle for someone who just chopped three balls off and extracted an eye only to shove it into another man’s mouth. “How do you feel?”

            “I feel like shit,” Shogo answered, still able to taste Hiroshi’s eye juices as he spoke. In fact, he spotted him off to the side with Ryuhei, a large patch over his eye. He looked half dead already. They were still clad in their nurse outfits.

            “You’ve been stopped,” Kazuo said, seemingly ignoring what Shogo had said. “You’ve finally been stopped. It took us until the year 2014, but… we did it.”

            “Yeah, okay,” Shogo responded unenthusiastically. The pain in his mangled wizard staff was almost unbearable. “Can I just go home? All I want is to fucking kill myself in a somewhat dignified manner. Can I at least have that?”

            Kazuo was about to respond but was cut off by Hiroshi being a rude motherfucker and deciding to collapse as his Boss was in the middle of an important conversation. The gang gathered around his limp body, though definitely with less enthusiasm than the first time. Hiroshi always reused his old jokes and this dying thing was just getting to be too much.

            Nevertheless, they all gathered around his body, watching with about 35% interest as Kazuo palpated for a pulse.

            Due to some rather unfortunate circumstances, the door to the room burst open the second Kazuo proclaimed Hiroshi’s unfortunate death, and Keita Iijima stood there, perplexed and horrified.

            “W-What,” he stammered, wanting to run away but unable to take his eyes off the bizarre spectacle. “What the fuck are you guys doing? Oh God, I should’ve just gone home. Shit!”

            “Would you like to come in?” Kazuo asked, his blood splattered surgical mask still hanging from his neck. Keita shook his head and bolted, screaming as he stomped down the hallway.

            “Go get him,” Kazuo ordered, much to the delight of the three remaining members of his gang. Each of them kicked off their heels and ran down the hall, skirts swaying in the breeze.

            The noise faded as the group moved away, but Kazuo and Shogo both remained silent. Shogo didn’t even speak or move an inch when Kazuo rose from his chair and stood over him, scalpel blade in hand. The cold metal pressed up against the sensitive skin of Shogo’s neck, but he didn’t even flinch. Some part of him had come to realize the dire need to be stopped. He foresaw the terrors he would bring to mankind, the suffering, the atrocious fashion sense. He knew exactly why Kazuo was stopping him. Kazuo was the mysterious dark hero of his generation - toppling the greatest villain of their time by stapling his gargantuan dick.

            He probably would have reminisced about his magnificent penis some more if Kazuo hadn’t plunged the scalpel blade into his neck at a 90 degree angle, spraying hot blood across his own face. He lost his grip on the handle for a moment as Shogo convulsed against his restraints; still able to scream despite the blade plunged into his throat.

            Kazuo finally shut him up by slamming Shogo’s prickly head back down onto the table with one hand and tearing the scalpel through as much flesh as he could with the other. Blood spurted from the wound for one more brief moment before the flow subsided, a steady stream of red trickling down Shogo’s 11/10 abs.

            “Huh, arterial blood spray,” Kazuo mumbled to himself, licking some of the fresh blood from his lips and tasting its warm bitterness on his tongue. “Nice.”

 


End file.
